Armageddon
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: NamineAxel. When her little world goes up in flames, there are spectators with sharp smiles and flash photography to document it all.


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Author's Note:

I...have waited a thousand years to post this thing. Except not at all, but whatever. That's not important. I am insanely proud of this, so...yeah! I think it pwns. I think all the stuff I've written and haven't actaully posted/typed up yet pwns. Good lord, my ego is of ginormous porportions. Oh well.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts. I do, however, have a picture of Axel and Roxas on my wall. It's a cute thing, too.

**Warning!:** This fic contains biblical references. And was inspired by _Invisble Monsters_, as well as _Mayday Parade._

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**Armageddon**

_Close up camera two, 'cause the hero dies in this scene._

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---And there was never an exact place to pinpoint it, you see; no paper-weight memories sitting in her head, no direct focus. Just the feeling of shaking knees and the taste of sweat beading on her upper lip as it approached her with outstretched hands.

No time to scream, no time at all—pictures ran circular tracks in her mind along with the sharp thought of I can't get away.

Gloved hands wrapping around her wrist.

_(Flash)_

Bony knees smacking the underbelly of a marble table, being made to sit.

_(Flash)_

Eyes boring into her own. "Don't think I won't kill you if it comes to it, princess."

_(Flash)_

There's no stopping it.

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_"I don't get you princess, I really don't. This power of yours…well, it's pretty_ great,_ isn't it? I mean_, we_ have powers too, but they aren't anything special. We _kill_ and so what? An infant could do that. But you…you're pretty special, girl. You can _create_."_

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The room was white, her dress was white, the endless stacks of paper were white---as white as the smiles of the people all dressed in black---but no one could see the red pulsating through the floor. It seeped from the cracks on the wall and pooled around the chair legs, lapping against it greedily. It spotted her clothing and devil-pictures, thinning itself out into a flood that threatened to consume her.

_(Flash)_

Take a picture while she's gasping for breath. You won't believe how pale she gets.

Screams bubble up behind her thin lips and she's still seated there, mutating lives with her cheap crayons. Somewhere in the castle, a boy with the sun for a face runs about, swinging a giant sword and spewing out promise after promise for her. He beams, chirps. "I swear I'm gonna save you, Namine!"

Her eyes feel a little wet, and the person in the corner laughs.

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_"Princess, I don't understand you, I really don't. What's with the crying? You're practically a _god_, yanno? You can do it; trust me, that boy can't tell _you_ from _her_ anyways."_

_"I…I can't possibly."_

_"Look, girlie, I'm only gonna say this once. Get your shit together and do it _soon_, 'cause if you don't there's be a helluva lot more that your fucking_ paint _spilling around here."_

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There's jeering grins and cocky remarks all around, but they can't hide their anxiety. There's a coup building and it affects everyone—the man with the hair like spring time and the woman with a face sharp enough to cut yourself on, especially. The bravado is sagging, and all that's left are paranoia-colored eyes and jerking limbs.

Not to mention that the boy with eyes the size of saucers is getting closer.

A woman whose eyes have taken to gluing themselves to every shadowy corner pushes and shoves her to the ground, cackling as Namine utters a small squeal of surprise. The skin on her knee parts and bleeds, and quick as you like, she's being placed back on the chair, kneecap bandaged to perfection.

The man with hellfire for a face laughs. "She only pushes you around 'cause you scare her shitless. Doesn't normally frighten easily, that Larxene."

He knocks his gloved hand against her shoulder. The uplift of his lips is meant to be reassuring, but it's more of a knowing sneer than anything else. "Don't worry about it," he tells her. "The people always rebel against their gods."

She blinks, memorizing the way his lips curl upwards and almost disappear into his skin. The lips are too thin and angular to be called pretty; they're too bloodless to seem real.

_(Flash)_

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_"Y'see, in my former life, I was into the church thing. Bowing heads and angels heard on high---you know the drill. So I was thinking that hey, maybe since you're_ The Creationist_ after all, maybe Sora's, like…The Messiah."_

_"Messiah?"_

_"Well, not like that, exactly. Maybe not. See, those people back then, they were big on following stories. Follow the word, or something. I dunno. I never paid much attention to that stuff. But the big thing is…the hero in all of this…Sora in this story…well, he dies, just like the hero in the other story. Was perfection and a nice guy and all, but he kicks the bucket."_

_"Why?"_

_"'Cause that's how the story goes, I already told you. Stories have to be followed. They're all meant to have the same ending every time. Pretty slow, aren't you?"_

_"But…oh, you wouldn't, would you?"_

_"Baby, you don't know a single thing I would or wouldn't do."_

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They were Roman soldiers in tight jackets, weapons at the ready. They were fearsome.

And the blue-eyed innocent cut them down like they were nothing.

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_"If…If I'm The Creationist, like you said, then who're you?"_

_"Well, Marluxia can be Judas Iscariot, and Larxene is—"_

_"But what about you? Who are you?"_

_"A bad dream."_

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The cherub grasped her hand, eyes shining bright. "I kept my promise, Namine!"

(_What promise?_ she wonders. _The one where you said you'd save me or the one where I said I couldn't possibly or the one where he said 'It gets easier' or maybe it's not any of them and I'm so desperate for oaths that I'm just creating them from the words that weren't ever said?_)

Hand-in-hand, and it's not good enough. The man with feral eyes cackles silently, and she can see his eyes glinting from behind the nearly-blinding flash of Sora's teeth. A bad dream, she thinks, and squeezes her eyes shut. There's a flash from a camera, and the acid-eyed man grins. "Sorry." He says unapologetically. "Y'see, it can be hard to memorize things. Photographs help."

Sora blinks. "Who're you?

He grins. "A nobody."

"Don't be stupid. Everybody's somebody."

The man opens his mouth in a laughter straight from a horror film, and Namine swears the only thing she can see is damnation rising from his shining white teeth like it's been given some sort of tangible form. "Possibly. But not me." He points at Namine. "And not her either."

Sora's jaw tightens in anger as he defends her honor. "Of course she's somebody! She's my friend!"

"Not in this story, she isn't."

Her eyes widen, and she can see the pockets rustling in the depths of the man's cloak.

**_"Stories have to be followed. They're all meant to have the same ending every time."_**

She throws out her arms, sliding into place in front of Sora. She holds firm, up until he actually moves, and then she's down; popsicle-stick les buckling and collapsing, head clacking against the marble under their feet.

Red soaring across the floor.

_I will give you another ending. I will create something better._

Sora's face twists in surprise and shock and confusion; this doesn't fit properly. Yeah, it's the way it's supposed to be—the boy saves the girl, and they go home and laugh and cry and maybe get married---or at least it was, up until a point. They've seemed to have switched roles, Namine and Sora. Which one is the knight in shining armor?

The man in the corner snaps a picture, and Sora snaps, "Stop that!"

_(Flash)_

Her own empty eyes, groveling prettily. _I don't want to die, that's not how the story goes, I changed my mind, I don't want it to be this way, I changed my mind, I changed my mind._

_(Flash)_

The man with velvet for a voice drawls, "Well, that was unexpected. Guess you're the one who's going, princess. Pity."

_For who?_ her escaping mind breathes. _For you or for me or for Sora or someone else?_

_(Flash)_

She can see a figure stepping out from the wings, and it's all dressed in black—is it death or just another person she never knew and whose story she never bothered to memorize or create? Namine bites her lip and thinks-prays-hopes,

_Please, just---_

But she never gets far enough to ask. There's not enough time to plead or bargain with the shape, before it envelops her in its arms. Her eyes roll up and her body shudders, and goes still.

Instead of just laying there and maybe getting stepped on later, her body simply…drifts. It seems to fold into itself and she melts, seeping into the hair thin cracks in the floor and becoming the nothing she was once more.

It seems tragic and awful and wretched and all things wrong, but in a way, it isn't and couldn't possibly be.

Pretend people don't need real deaths.

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_"Okay, princess, I'll tell you a little something. You see, at The Messiah's death, there were a whole bunch of people. On-lookers there for a bit of fun, yanno? Just looking for some bloodshed to complete a happy day."_

_"That's…That's horrid."_

_"Get used to it. Your whole world is horrid."_

_"But you—"_

_"Alright, I'll be the judge. If it happens, it happens. I could care less if sky-boy lives or dies if you end up all dead and decaying on the carpet."_

_"But that's…that's so…" _She can't help but cry. This is horrible. This is terrible. No one wants to be told that their performance has been for shit, and that nobody's going to clap them on the back and tell them well done, you did your best.

_"Wipe those eyes, princess, 'cause I sure as shit ain't gonna be crying over you."_

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End file.
